Ceremony
by witwit8
Summary: "Avoidance had been easy, your mother finally swept up in the praise and accolades that awaited her and you'd sat down on a stool at the far corner of the bar drinking and definitely not staring at the girl- the woman- you'd always been enamored by. Head over fucking heels in love with, really. No, you weren't staring. Not at all."


The collar of your uniform is fucking hot and you pull at it, trying to coax some of the cool air down into your shirt with little success. You look around the crowded ballroom and inhale deeply, leaning against the stone pillar that blocks you from the full view of the rest of the party guests. You hated these functions, hated having to go to them and laugh and put on a fake smile and pretend to care about the pretentious assholes who flock around your mother, the newly minted chief of Toronto police. And tonight is even worse because you actually have to be involved.

On stage.

In front of people.

The thought causes you take a large drink of the cocktail in your hand, wincing as it burns down your throat. Tonight had been a bit of a shit show on your behalf- starting with your mother's barely restrained glare at your most recent haircut (very short but it had been exactly the reaction you were hoping to get to be honest) and the night so far is consisting of having to kiss up to seemingly every person who ever spoke to your mother in her entire career and trying to hide intermittently between her beckoning calls. And finally, worst of all, you'd had to deal with the sight of _her_ all evening.

Her being Holly fucking Stewart, the girl four years older than you who you'd grown up gazing at from afar, grown up sighing and mooning over like the love struck teenager you had been. Holly Stewart who had gone away to college and then to medical school while you'd stayed and followed through with the family business, blue polyester and all. Holly Stewart who had shown up that evening in flowing blue satin with a woman on her arm and a crooked smile on her face, her appearance due to her being the recent recipient of the coveted senior pathologist position at the medical examiner's office at the young age of 28, a credit to, yes, her extreme aptitude but also her strong references- your mother being one of them. She's always loved Holly which, really is the only flaw you'd ever found in the young woman. She was a doctor now and accomplished and still so beautiful and when you'd seen her come in the door, well- you'd ran.

Avoidance had been easy, your mother finally swept up in the praise and accolades that awaited her and you'd sat down on a stool at the far corner of the bar drinking and definitely not staring at the girl- the woman- you'd always been enamored by.

Head over fucking heels in love with, really.

No, you weren't staring.

Not at all.

When the speeches start, your stomach bottoms out and you see your mother look around and try to find your newly shorn platinum hair in the crowd. You slink back and sigh in relief when her eyes skirt further around the room, her mouth setting in a hard line when she fails in her perusal.

You sink into the bar in front of you, your right elbow braced on top of it and the martini (not your favorite but hey, it has alcohol in it) cradled in the other as you try to drown the commissioner's voice out, tucking your head slightly down to further conceal. It helps, then, when someone comes up beside you and sits to your left, further blocking your body from the crowd.

A moment as you let the new patron sit before you look up at them and then- then your fucking heart stops because it's her. It's Holly. And you don't even get a moment to collect yourself and correct the look of awe and panic on your face because she's looking straight at you, concentrating that crooked grin and crinkled gaze your way and it's like you're paralyzed because yeah she's always been beautiful and okay you've realized that people don't exactly peak in high school but mostly get better looking with age but the years- the ten fucking agonizing years- you've gone without seeing her? They have done everything to make her all the more gorgeous and magnetic and goddamn it your heart, it's doing its best to wrench its way out of your body and you're speechless.

A moment as you peer at each other before you hear the bartender clear his throat.

"Oh, uh," she turns to him with a nervous tilt of her glasses," I'll have whatever she's having."

And then she's turning back to you and you feel like you've done a little bit of adjusting so your eyes are now somewhat of a normal size and you're sitting up a little straighter and trying not to gawk and holy fuck she's speaking to you.

"Uh- I'm sorry if I'm interrupting. I just sort of saw you hiding over here and I thought 'hey, yes, someone hiding. Maybe they'll help me hide, too."

And even though your mouth feels like you haven't had a drop of water in years, you find the will to open your mouth and speak actual words to her.

"I- yeah. Yeah. Hiding is, uh, what I'm doing. You're more than welcome to join."

A grateful smile is flashed at you and then the bartender as he sets the drink down in front of her.

"What are you hiding from, then?"

The words flow out of your lips with little thought and you breathe a sigh of relief when the bartender sets your own new martini down in front of you. You hated this shit but you loved the open bars that came with it.

"Honestly? Uh- I came with someone and they, well, I think they might think it's more than what it actually is, you know?"

Your heart plummets to your stomach.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she- uh- I mean,"

A moment as she trips over the pronoun. It tickles the back of your throat with a sadness and it overwhelms you, so much so that your hand darts out desperately to grasp her arm lightly and say, encouragingly:

"Hey, no. I kind of saw you come in together. So, she's getting a little clingy."

The relief is the palpable and the steady grin returns to her face.

"You could say that. She- I'm new here. Well, not really new here- I grew up here. I mean, hell, the Pecks- do you know them? - I sort of grew up next door to them and was best friends with their son and they're all sort of police royalty- but I haven't been back in like a decade so I didn't have anyone to take and I really needed to not show up alone- and she asked and I just said yes and I-"

You're smiling at her as she rambles. First because she's really fucking cute when she does it and second because, well, she has no damn clue who you are. You don't blame her- the last time she'd seen you, you'd been all black hair and black clothes and angst and chubby cheeks but it's the thought- the thought that she didn't come over because she recognized you or just wanted to be alone, but because she was genuinely drawn over to you that makes the smile on your face so wide it makes it feel like it's going to split off of your face.

"And anyway, she's been a little too…presumptuous so I'm getting a little gone. Anyway. Why are you hiding, Officer-"

Your eyes zero in on the hand she puts in front of your face in greeting. You don't take it at first, simply stare and try to come up with an answer, not wanting her to look at you like Steve's little sister just yet. You just wanted to exist with her, talking to her, maybe, for a few moments more. So, you say the first thing on your mind and you cringe even as the words spill out of your lips.

"Price."

And then she flashes that heart stopping smile full on but this time it's directed your way and it leaves you frozen and when it takes you a moment to shake her still out stretched hand, your face affixed with what you're sure is awe, it splashes the loveliest shade of pink along her olive cheeks and you can't help but linger when your hand finally touches hers, fingers slightly stroking the skin of her palm, and eliciting even more pink on those smile-lifted cheeks.

"Well," she says and you're pretty sure her voice has dropped three fucking octaves, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Price."

And you feel slightly guilty, yeah, but you also enjoy the way she smiles slow and sticky sweet as she takes her time drawing her hand back from your own. There's a moment where you both just look at one another, gauging one another. It's quick, only a second or so and then- before you know it- then you're talking and laughing and you're thanking God for the open bar because the bartender just keeps pouring them and before you know it, you're so close to one another and leaning in and giggling about something stupid someone had recently told you on a blind date and everything is perfect-

But then- then- oh. Oh, no.

That voice, you know that voice. That voice has haunted you, demeaned and insulted you for 24 long years. And not only is it your mother up there talking, Holly's attention now captured by the woman she'd basically seen growing up more than her own workaholic doctor mother, but she's getting (fake) choked up and telling the story that you feel like she's told a million times over the course of the last three months.

The story of you and Dov and a house fire and a couple of kids.

An explosion. Dov getting knocked out, unable to breathe in the smoke and fire engulfed house. And then the voices- the screaming, tiny voices that still haunted your nightmares. And it wasn't really that you decided to brave- more that you couldn't really do anything else, you mind going blank and your instinct taking over- and before you really knew it, you'd been pulling Dov over your shoulder and basically chucking him into the front yard to safety before trudging up the stairs.

Three kids in all, three little terrified girls with tears tracking down their chubby and soot smeared faces. The parents hadn't been home, the oldest, barely 11, tapped to babysit. It had been a freak accident and no one had really been to blame and it could've been a lot worse. But it wasn't. Because, Oliver had said proudly, because of you.

You wish most days that Dov had been the brave one, hadn't gotten his ass knocked out so he could've been the one. He would have worn it proudly.

He would have to go up on the stage instead of you.

Panic begins to settle in your body with each pride laced passing word.

And Holly is looking back at you a weird look so you think it's settled on your face, too, and you open your mouth to speak and tell her, tell her who you really are, but then there's your name-

"…proudly present my daughter, Rookie of the Year, in part for her considerable bravery, Officer Gail Peck."

Clapping. That's the first thing you really register. Clapping and then- Steve is finding you and grabbing your shoulder and flashing Holly a smile before escorting you all the way to the stage, his body pushing you up the stairs and into your mother's waiting arms.

Cameras flash. People (probably Oliver and Chris) whistle loudly as the medal is put around your neck. Your mother puts her arm around your shoulder, turns you toward the official police photographer. The flash makes your eyes blot and the smile you've put on must border on manic. You glance down and out into the crowd, searching. See Oliver gleaming proudly, Traci smiling full on and shaking her head, Chris, indeed, index and pinkie in his mouth and blowing. But you search beyond, toward the bar. And you find her. Lock your eyes with hers and try to beseech her with your regret. But she's not quite frowning, you think, just sort of confused but she's pushing her hands together to clap for you, too, and you think she might look a little proud so you allow yourself to breathe through the panic and the chaos and nearly an hour later you're finally off that stage and away from your mother and father's gloating side and you're searching once more for the woman who had been on your mind for years. The woman you'd just bald face lied to-

There's a tap on your shoulder and you round on whoever is responsible, the crinkle over your brow already set, the venomous words set upon your tongue, ready to spill. But it's not your brother or one of your mother's asshole friends looking to cop a feel- it's Holly. Holly who is just looking at you with a crooked eyebrow and a bottle of champagne in one of those glorious hands. Holly who speaks when she realizes that all you can do is helplessly sputter.

"So. You're a hero, Gail Peck."

You roll your eyes and feel your fingers trace lightly over the cumbersome weight around your neck. The medal feels like a noose.

"I'm a shmuck."

That draws a light laugh and a nod from her.

"Yeah, well. Maybe you can be both?"

Your mouth flicks upward- barely- but it's there and you nod, watching with wonder as her eyes light up, flicker with amusement and maybe-

You feel you stomach bottom out at the possibilities of that look when her hand reaches around and grabs your forearm and tugs, your legs with a mind of their own following after her when she begins to move. Before you really even register, you're sitting down beside her, the shutting of a heavy door behind you barely even processing. You're in a closet, you surmise. A coat closet to be specific, the various weights and fabrics of the garments brushing your shoulders as you settle in, her arm brushing yours with every stuttered movement.

Once you get comfortable, you sneak a glance at the woman beside you, gulp when you find her peering back at you, a smirk placed firmly on those beautiful lips. A slight stretch of silence and then she speaking.

"So," she's saying, her words tinged with amusement and reflecting in her deep brown eyes, "You're Gail Peck. I thought you looked familiar, but I thought that, you know, I'd seen you- around. But then I thought- if I had seen her recently, I definitely would have remembered? But now- now I know. You're my best friend's sister. Gail Peck."

She shakes her head and gives a little laugh, tipping the bottle of champagne back into her mouth.

You duck your head to hide the tinging of your cheeks as she swallows. Because you're embarrassed to have been caught, yeah, but also- also you're thrilled because she just basically called you hot or beautiful or memorable, at least, right?

"So- why did you to tell me you were somebody else?"

You grab the bottle out of her hand and take your own deep swallow to give yourself time to answer.

"I don't know."

The extra time was ineffective.

But then her eyebrow is flicking upward and her mouth forms in a frown and it causes your heart to lurch unpleasantly so you blurt out, in a rush-

"I didn't want you to know who I was. I'm- uh- I didn't want you to see me as Steve's little sister. I just- saw you come in and how fucking beautiful you were and I wanted- I just wanted to talk to you without all that shit coloring it, you know? I wanted to talk to you as me… without fifteen year old me coming to the party. It's stupid."

Another beat. She's looking at you like she's reading you and it unnerves you.

"For the record, I'm sorry."

But her mouth is softening and when she speaks, it's a little teasing.

"You think I look beautiful? Well, shucks."

That draws a scoff from your own lips.

"That's all you took away from that?"

She nods.

"Yeah, well- when a gorgeous woman tells you you're beautiful, it tends to stick with you."

Another lurch of your heart.

"Yeah. I- I guess it does."

The next few minutes pass with ease, the conversation light and teasing and just- fun. The bottle of booze you're passing between you both doesn't hurt the matter, either, your head swimmingly pleasantly with each sip, each accompanying and purposeful (you think) brush of her fingers against yours when you exchange the bottle.

You're still overanalyzing the whole thing when her words cut through the alcohol and Holly fueled cloud you've found yourself in.

"So- why didn't we speak in high school?"

You're silent for a moment, tuck your head.

"Uh- Steve and I didn't exactly get along. And he didn't really want me talking to anyone he hung out with. And I was sort of going through this phase where I was doing everything I could to piss my mother off, and she fucking loves you, so- speaking to you wouldn't have really aided in that goal, you know?"

She's nodding and seems satisfied with that answer so you really don't know why the next words slip out of your mouth, but they do and your cheeks flame and your throat chokes after they hit the open air.

"The fact that I had a paralyzing crush on you and could barely stand to be in the same room as you for fear of making an idiot of myself didn't help, either."

She turns her head and looks at you then. Her eyes are softer, a little glassy from the champagne and something else you can't exactly place.

"Oh. I- didn't know."

You shrug your shoulders, take another sip of the bubbly concoction.

"How could you? I treated you like a ghost."

She grabs the bottle out of your hand, drinks another long drink, tipping it back until it empites.

She busies herself with placing it on the floor behind her, reaching back to retrieve the other bottle she had commandeered. It fills your chest with fondness.

She's cutting the aluminum foil and trying to pop the cork when she makes her next query, not looking at you.

"And- how are you feeling about me now? That you're not goth and I'm not the bane of your teenaged existence?"

You take that opportunity to really look at her- the lines of her face, the beautiful slope of her jaw into her neck, the tumble of her hair down her muscled back.

"I- uh- like I'm 15 again and you're all I can think about, Mostly. It's- a little disconcerting, to be honest. But also- also nice."

The cork pops. She catches the dribbling liquid out of the bottle with her mouth, sipping it rapidly. When it stops, she turns back to you, licking her lips.

"And, uh- you? About me- even though I panicked a little and lied about who I was?"

That smile again and then- oh, God. Did she just- did she just look at your fucking lips?

"I'm having decidedly non- teenaged Holly thoughts about you, Gail Peck."

You're never going to be able to breathe again, you swear to God.

"Can you handle it?"

She is, without a goddamn doubt, looking at your lips.

You take the champagne out of her hands. You don't take a drink.

Instead, you place the bottle within arm's reach on the floor. When the task is done, you turn back to her, register her slight smirk, and in the same motion, cup your hands around her cheeks and draw her into you.

The first press of her lips against yours is soft and light. The stutter of your heart makes your hands shake but you push through it, a small smile flicking onto your face when she kisses you again, pressing harder into you.

You gasp at the first touch of her tongue on your bottom lip, press your fingers harder into the hollow of her cheeks when you open your mouth wider and let her in.

You're not sure how you're still conscious- the way your heart is sprinting, your breath rushing in and out of your lungs- but you are so fucking thankful you are because Holly fucking Stewart is licking into your mouth and brushing her tongue over yours and gasping into your mouth and sliding her hands down so they brush your breasts on the way down to your anxious hips. And so engulfed are you in the wonder of it all that you don't even realize you're hitching one leg over her hips and settling into her lap at her insistence until you've sunk down into the cradle of her hips, hands sliding into the thick, dark hair you'd been admiring all evening and hald of your fucking life.

And Holly Stewart is panting and screwing up her face against the onslaught of sensation that your hips have created and breaking the seal of your lips to gasp out into the air of the closet.

"Jesus, Gail. You feel-"

You nod, finding her lips with yours once more.

She groans and breaks the kiss when you rotate your hips, seeking some kind of friction as the kiss grows and becomes desperate and dirty and sloppy.

"Jesus, Hol-"

But she's lost in sensation, one hand drifting up from your hip to grip into the short strands of your hair. She closes her eyes tightly, grips a lip between white teeth and forces your own lips to her throbbing neck. A groan and a stuttered breath rewards your latching mouth and scraping teeth. You feel the words rumble out of her mouth before you hear them.

"Goddammit, Gail. Why haven't we done this before?"

You grunt out a laugh.

"Steve."

She groans in exasperation, tearing your lips away from her neck and wrenching you back to her lips.

"Yeah- I don't want to think or talk about your brother right now."

You nod and get back to the task at hand.

You spend long moments like that- making out like teenagers on the floor of a coat closet in a five star hotel during your commendation ceremony- before there's a light knock on the door.

Wide eyes meet wide eyes and hands come out toe straighten pulled and clothing in various states of disarray.

When you finally look presentable, you find yourself standing on rickety legs and trying to ignore the heat of her as she stands up beside you.

You pass the people looking to gather their coats on the way out of the confined space and ignore their stare. It wasn't important.

What was important was the woman coming to stop behind you with glassy and aroused eyes with a question on your lips. What was important was the fire and discomfort left between your legs after your encounter. What was important was the idea forming in your head. You wheel around, your eyes meeting hers and words tumbling out of your lips before you can stop them.

"So- I'm done here. And I have, uh- they gave me the suite for the weekend for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and I was thinking that maybe you'd like to join-"

The yes leaves her lips before you can even finish and makes your stomach flip pleasantly.

She tells you she needs to say a couple of goodbyes, gather her things. You agree to do the same- the look of incredulousness after you'd told her you were simply going to leave convincing you to rethink your plan of action- and meet at your suite after. She looks over her shoulder before she departs and kisses your cheek when she determines the coast clear.

"And Gail," she's saying after you've started to walk away, "take your time- but the first one there has to tell Steve about this."

Your eyes widen at the words, the smile on her face and the crook of her brow.

Hours later- sweaty and sated and smiling- she lays quietly on your shoulder, words whispering In your ear and making you groan.

"As amazing as that was- and as excited as I am about doing that in the future- I'm almost more excited to see the look on your brother's face when you tell him about us."

You slap lightly at her shoulder, sooth it with your hand and draw her closer to you after. You close your eyes and fight the smile the image brings into your mind.

"Yeah, yeah. Well- maybe we'll have a camera on hand, huh?"

You feel the smile against your skin.

"Sounds like a plan."

It's a few more moments before you hear the sounds of heavy breathing and it lulls you into your own slumber.

But the next day- when you're opening the door and greeting the person you thought was room service and instead saying hello to your older brother who is all questions about the disappearing act you'd pulled the night before- the next day that plan goes to hell because just as he's putting his hands on his hips and launching into a spiel you're sure had come directly from your mother, Holly is rounding the corner in nothing but your uniform shirt and her underwear and your brother?

Your brother is suddenly silent and all gaping mouth and wheezing breath and eyebrows in his hairline.

Holly pauses for a moment before coming over to join you in front of the couch, raising an eyebrow and speaking with an amused lilt to her voice.

"Do you think I broke him?"

"Probably."

"Huh. Oh, shit. Do you- my phone is dead. Do you have yours?"

You unlock it, pass it to her without a word. The click of the shutter resonates. The picture finds itself in front of your eyes and draws a long laugh out of your lips.

Holly looks at you, smiles, and kisses your cheek.

"I'm gonna go put on some pants. I can send this to myself, right? I'm gonna use it as my lock screen I think."

You nod, watching her go with a laugh, and turning to your still stunned sibling.

You clear your throat, snap your fingers in front of his face, and shrug when it doesn't seem to make a difference.

Oh, well.

At least you hadn't actually had to tell him.

You sit down on the couch in front of where he is frozen, listening to the light sounds Holly makes as she moves in the adjoining room. Until Steve's brain function kicked up again, until Holly returned, you were content to wait and think and high five your fifteen year old self for your incredible, stupid luck.

* * *

Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!

Whit


End file.
